


Miss Universe 2017

by Unforth



Series: Tumblr Ficlets: Supernatural [25]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bunker Fluff, Cursed Dean, Dean Might be a Little Genderqueer, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gender or Sex Swap, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Panty Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 09:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11460984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: Ficlet written to the prompt: i would love a Destiel where Dean accidently gets changed into a woman or gets lady parts in addition by a witch and has to deal with the problems that come it...





	Miss Universe 2017

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunawolf8074](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunawolf8074/gifts).



> From time to time I put out calls for prompts, and I fill them! This story is a prompt fill for lunawolf8074, who sent me this request:  
> i would love a Destiel where Dean accidently gets changed into a woman or gets lady parts in addition by a witch and has to deal with the problems that come it...seeing a more feminine dean does things for Cas and Sam maybe gets to tease Dean by calling him momma De
> 
> So, an apology...I really don't do daddy or mommy kink, it's a major squick for me, so I took this in a bit of a different direction. I hope you still like it...
> 
> Interested in requesting a prompt of your own? I have an AO3 post where I periodically take prompts, so subscribe to me or subscribe to the "[Call for Prompts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11408007)" post, and next time I ask for prompts, why not [drop me a note](unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/ask)?

“You realize I’m the same guy, right?” Dean scowled, crossing...his...arms beneath...his breasts. At least the witch’s spell had given him a great rack. Dean had always figured he’d make one damn hot chick, and sure enough, he was pretty hot. Objectifying himself was...strange...but he couldn’t help it. When he looked in the mirror and saw the softened curves of his cheeks, the delicate curve of his ears, the rise of his chest, the narrowness of his muscular waist, the spread of his hips, he didn’t see _himself_ , he just saw...a hot chick...and that made it surprisingly easy to separate his appearance from the man he’d always been – the man he _still_ was.

God, he fucking hated witches.

“Of course you are!” spluttered Sam. “I just meant...I mean...you’re still getting used to your new body, right? And I know how much witches piss you off...if we shoot first, ask questions later, odds are good you’ll end up changed permanently, so maybe I should...you know...go in alone.”

“You’re not just saying that because I’m a gi— a _woman_ , now?” Dean demanded.

“Scout’s honor,” Sam vowed.

“You were never a boy scout,” Dean grumbled.

“I was, for about two weeks, for a case,” said Sam. “And I know you always liked those girl scout sashes – I’ll see if I can scare you up one.

Despite Sam’s smile and his easy dismissal of Dean’s worries, the way he practically fled from the Bunker spoke his discomfort louder than words. Still grumbling, Dean turned on a heel and stalked back into the house. His bare feet scuffed painfully against the concrete. In truth, all Sam had needed to do was point out that Dean’s feet had shrunk when he became a more petite, female version of himself, and that there wasn’t a pair of shoes in the Bunker that fit him. That _alone_ trapped Dean in the house until either Sam or Castiel returned with boots that he could wear. Pants, too. And a goddamn bra. No one had ever told him how fucking _heavy_ large breasts were. It had only be a day and he already had a back ache. Oversized shirts and baggy flannels were a cute look, but his breasts jiggled every time he walked, his pants barely clung to his hips, his boxers left his crotch feeling uncomfortably...open, and exposed...and Dean was ready to pray to fucking _Lucifer_ if it’d get him eight inches back – in more ways than one.

The whispering flap of wings spoke to Castiel’s return. Dean spun around, momentarily afflicted by dizziness as his shot balance failed to compensate for the rapid movement, and found himself staring at Castiel’s lips.

 _Right. Because I’m fucking_ short _. Hell._

At least Castiel had very nice lips.

“Did you get the stuff?” Dean snapped.

“Yes, Dean,” said Cas, offering him two large Macy’s bags.

Macy’s.

Dean was going to wear clothes. from. fucking. Macy’s.

Snatching the bags from Castiel’s hands, Dean stalked to his room, crossed to the bed, and dumped the contents of the first out. So far, so good – yeah, it was from Macy’s, and seriously what the fuck, but there were two pairs of Levi’s, three packages of Hanes under shirts, and four long-sleeved button ups in various shades of plaid: the female equivalent of what Dean wore every day. Some part of him had been locked into thinking that because he was a woman now, he’d have to dress ultra-feminine, in short skirts and tank tops or whatever, and the thought made him feel sick. If he wanted to show skin he’d wear cargo shorts and wife beaters. Dean _liked_ be covered, felt more safe heavily clothed, and thank _God_ Castiel hadn’t gone risque. Heaving a sigh of relief that dissipated tension from his chest, helped Dean realize just how worried he’d been about what he’d wear, Dean grabbed the second bag and emptied it too.

The tension in his chest returned instantly.

Lace, silk and satin in a rainbow of stunningly bright colors greeted him, matching sets of bras and panties that, while Dean didn’t recognize the name brands, he knew from experience in many a woman’s bed were “the good shit.” There was even a Goddamn _negligee_ , when the fuck did Castiel think Dean would wear _that_? Freaked, Dean reached into the pile, the soft materials gentle against his skin, sifting through, helpless and overwhelmed.

_...but they do feel nice against my skin..._

_...this pair is like the one’s Rhonda had..._

“Do you like the selections I made?” asked Castiel. Dean stiffened, his breath caught, and he wheeled around, a pair of panties still clutched in his hand.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ can you _warn a guy_ next time?” Dean demanded. “I mean...a girl...can you warn a...hell, I still think of myself as a guy, so...”

“You are still a man,” Castiel agreed solemnly. “The gender one perceives oneself to be bears only minimal inherent connection to the biological gender of our bodies. Your personality remains your own regardless of whether you have XY or XX chromosomes.”

“Really?” asked Dean.

“Really,” Castiel confirmed.

Tension started to ease from Dean’s chest again.

“So, do you like them?” Castiel repeated.

Angry retorts sprang to Dean’s lips, that _no_ , he didn’t, these garments were too feminine, wearing them would be too weird, he wasn’t even sure how to put _on_ one of those bras, but he said nothing. Memory teased at him, of how good it had felt to wear Rhonda’s panties a lifetime ago, of how empowered he’d been to pull his baggy jeans on over them and do up his belt, knowing that the silken fabric was still beneath, his secret indulgence. At the time, he’d thought that made him weak, that his desire to feel that way all the time emasculated him. Reflecting on what Castiel had just said, though, Dean wasn’t so sure.

Maybe he wasn’t so manly as he’d always forced himself to believe he was.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “I, uh. I like them a lot, Cas.” He held out the turquoise panties draped over his hand. “Maybe, um, come over here and help me put them on?”

“Of course, Dean,” said Cas, breaking into a smile. “It’d be my pleasure. I selected that color because I thought it would compliment your skin tone.”

“Let’s find out.”

* * *

Sam clattered loudly as he returned to the Bunker; he always did, due to Dean and Castiel’s general indifference to where they behaved intimately when they thought Sam wasn’t around. He had to talk to Dean, though, so he walked to Dean’s closed door and knocked.

“Come in,” called Dean, his feminine voice low and gruff.

Rolling his eyes, prepared to walk in on the worst, Sam pushed the door open. He was pleasantly relieved to find his brother...his sister?...and Castiel both fully dressed, curled up together on the bed on top of the blankets.

“First good news,” Sam said. “I found the witches. Second good news, the spell is reversible. And third good news, I found you this.” Sam tossed Dean the bag he carried.

Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow at Sam – his...her...mannerisms were identical to how they’d been before, incongruous on a woman at times – and opened the bag, withdrawing the contents. A sash flopped out, length dangling over Dean’s lap.

 _Miss Universe 2017_ , the sash read.

“Sorry, no girl scout outfits at Party City.”

“Fuck you, Sam,”

“You’re gonna be okay, jerk,” Sam continued sincerely.

“I’m already alright, bitch.”

“Dean is perfect just the way they are,” said Castiel.

Sam’s worries faded. Dean’s smile couldn’t be faked.

_Phew._

_Guess that means he won’t be upset when he finds out how long it’s gonna take for him to go back to normal..._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr at [unforth-ninawaters](unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com).


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